It Was Only Last Night

She was finishing the last chapter of her very first book. The book she had been putting so much of her tiny life into. It had been two years. Two years that had freezed the moon from taking turns with the smirking sun. Two years that had snatched any dews from her lavender bushes. Two years that had ceased her ever striking long legs from strolling through the garden, barefooted. She had lost so much weigh since the day she started writing. Her arms were as small as her husband’s golf stick, and her cheekbones were as hollow as his stares. It had been too long since he even tried to stare. He never stared. He hardly dared to..

The faint smell of water lily still lingered. It was from her old clothes and nostalgies, well kept in her ivory wardrobe. The wardrobe she had never come close to since the day she started writing. Her laptop was on her lap. Flipped open. Not a letter. Not even one. She knew it would not be easy, the last chapter. She pushed it aside, grabbing a salmon spread non fat crackers from the supper tray. The spread was way too tidy. The new butler was trying to impress her, so she guessed. She felt like telling him that she hated tidy spread, but on second thought she decided not to sweat it for now. She had become indifferent to dissapointments, and she choosed to swallow some with lowest disturbance instead of triggering another series of dissapointment. She had learned to outsmart pain.

The door was held open, as usual. As such, he would not need to knock, whenever he felt checking on her. She knew he had never missed a single day. Checking on her. Even when he thought she was sound asleep. Then she knew he would try to peek on her writing. But she was no fool. She always had all her files locked with password only God and herself could tell.

It was almost midnight. She typed the last sentence, and smiled, with tears welling down her cold cheekbone. She read the whole page all over again and broke into a piercing hysteria, a resolving sob, and a stilled silence.

It was only last night.

He had a tough day, convincing a buyer to give his company a second chance. He could not afford to lose that multi national client who had been supporting his business for over 20 years. After hours of apologies and make up proposals, they said they would strongly consider. He felt like firing the interns for passing wrong slides and quotations to the board during the meeting this very morning. In an instant he remembered her. He ran into the lobby and called the driver. There was no place he’d rather be than with her. Even though he could only get as close to staring her face while she slept, or checking on her while she was writing. She must’ve fallen asleep by the time he got home. He wished that she knew he had never missed a single day not checking on her. He knew he should’ve taken his chance to stare at her and apologize, even at the risk of her locking herself up for months. He wished he could put things back to where it used to be. It was only one night. One foul night, 2 years ago. He could barely remember what was it like. He was drunk, and bankrupt. And she, the woman from the club, she knew too well how to soothe his bruised ego. She was well-trained. And he was into deep. ‘Shit’ they said what it was.

It was one foul night..

It was only last night.

She let him stare at her. And to her own surprise he came even closer. He kissed her. It did not last more than a second. The next thing she felt was her chest was burning. Was it from love or regret, she could not tell. She did not want to. In a split second everything was beaming, glowing as they were, exactly 20 years ago, walking down the aisle of water lilies. Holding a bucket full of dreams and romance. Staring sheepishly. French-kissing what the future might hold and most of all, embracing vows. “…through sorrow and joy, in sickness and in health, til death do us apart”

And there it was on her laptop screen.

“…through sorrow and joy, in sickness and in health, til death do us apart”